


Fathoming Him Out

by camelot_king



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is in love but he doesn't know it, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Implied Relationships, M/M, POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Arthur, Protective Merlin, awkward arthur, touch-starved Arthur Pendragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24512428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camelot_king/pseuds/camelot_king
Summary: “Um… when I said we can’t be friends because I’m the prince...I...” Arthur started tentatively, before saying seriously, “I…I think we might already be friends.”Merlin looked at him funnily for a moment, before bursting into laughter, falling back onto his back.“What?” Arthur snapped heatedly, a bit nettled at this reaction (though his heart was warming slightly at the smile finally returning to Merlin’s face).“Oh Arthur,” Merlin snickered, “you say that like it’s the end of the world. It’s not like you’ve never had a friend before.”Arthur flopped back onto his back with a quiet huff, coldness seeping back into his chest at this statement. He stared at the patchy ceiling, swallowing hard and trying to keep his expression neutral. He’d gotten pretty good at being expressionless over the years-- it was the nature of the court, of being royalty, to stand tall. To stand alone.a.k.a.Arthur realizes that Merlin is his first true friend and that he may or may not be in love with him.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 500





	Fathoming Him Out

Arthur wasn’t the type to be sensitive, as Uther would call it. Though he was schooled in all the delicate fineries of the court life, his calling-- according to his father, and the shouting fans in the arena-- had always been with the sword. 

All other activity has been what Uther had described under his breath as ‘frivolous’. 

And so Arthur, always eager to please, had fought. 

And through the years, Arthur was inclined to agree with this narrow assessment of his person. 

Through years of intensive work under his father’s watchful eye, the thin piece of metal felt almost like another arm as it swished confidently through the air with deadly accuracy, something that was sure to sufficiently impress whoever was witnessing it.

But there was always a coldness to the sword, to the fighting. Even the thrill of hunting, with all its adrenaline, would wear off after a while.

Despite that, Arthur would always drag in his latest kill before the throne, glance up at the royal box when he finished a fight with a decisive win. The proud glint in his father’s eye, the way he would puff up with pride, just for a brief instant, would make it all worth it. 

Then it was back to the numbing monotony of ‘yes, my lord,’ ‘right away, father’, and the veiled conversations one had in a court setting. And Arthur told himself that he was perfectly alright with that.

Then Merlin had come along. 

Arthur had never met anyone so disagreeable in his life-- by all accounts, they should have been enemies. Certainly not friends.

The gangly, clumsy, blue eyes country boy that had insulted him first when he didn’t know who he was and AGAIN when he knew his title.

Arthur was simply baffled by him. 

Then Merlin became Arthur’s manservant. Arthur had expected some kind of change when that had happened but no-- Merlin was just as obstinate as ever.

Merlin hated hunting. Arthur, when he’d taken him on a hunting trip for the first time, had watched in horrified awe as he’d accidentally set off a crossbow, tripped over at least 5 separate tree roots, elbowed a few knights’ arms without getting punched in the face, and spoke loudly about his issues with tournaments without a care in the world. 

In the castle, he would regularly stumble on his own two feet, chuckle under his breath, slop wine onto Arthur’s plate by “accident” (which Arthur strongly suspected wasn’t the case), and twice in the first two weeks of his employment, he had tripped over Uther’s chair leg causing the man-- the King of Camelot!-- to glare at him in clear disapproval. 

But the strangest thing about Merlin was that he didn’t care about anything anyone else thought about him, least of all Arthur.

Some servants glared jealously at the wayward, clumsy servant in such a coveted position. Arthur did his best to insult him whenever he saw him, hell, even as Uther confronted the boy when he could-- but nothing seemed to phase him. 

Arthur had always been taught that servants were to be silent, to be unseen. 

Merlin, in all his lack of subtlety, sly remarks, and confident looks, had never been taught that.

He was simply untrainable, Arthur had mused, shaking his head in wonder at this strange creature, but-- in a strange, unidentifiable way, Arthur had rather begun to enjoy Merlin’s many “failings”. 

As his companionship with Merlin grew, so did the strange need to protect the boy. Him, the crown prince of Camelot, protecting his manservant! 

The first time Merlin had made his heart leap to his throat, was when he, with no fear in his stance and a determined look on his face, willingly drank poison for Arthur-- and, seconds later, had crumpled lifelessly in a way that made Arthur feel incredibly helpless.

He had watched, in a growing sense of dread, as this strangely ethereal, beautiful person-- looking so innocent and vulnerable as he lay on Gaius’ cot, slipped slowly away. He had sacrificed himself for a man-- a boy really, that he had hardly known without a thought for himself.

It was then, Arthur had realized, that there were more important things than the sword that he knew so well. 

When he appealed to his father to ask permission to go retrieve the Morteas flower, Arthur ceased to think of Merlin as a servant but as something else entirely. Something so incredibly brave, so pure, that they would do good just for the sake of doing it. 

Something like that was a rare thing in the court of Camelot.

“I can't risk losing you for the sake of some serving boy.” Uther had snapped. 

“Oh, because his life's worthless?” Arthur had shot back in frustration. 

So when Uther, sharp and exasperated at Arthur’s uncharacteristic noncompliance with his words, said, “No, because it's worth LESS than yours.” 

Even Uther, in all his stubbornness, had recognized the hurt in his son’s eyes as he took in the words, eyes flickering in apparent fear as Arthur drew himself up-- refusing to be dissuaded and bow down to Uther’s words like he usually did. 

Arthur had looked at the older man, all of the illusions of the strong, fearless King he had built up for himself seeming fall away for a moment, leaving a paranoid, worried old man in his place. 

Uther couldn’t lose his son.  
And Arthur couldn’t lose Merlin. 

Unfortunately for Arthur’s stress levels, Merlin continued to rush into the face of danger-- too many times. 

Arthur would always hold his breath, sometimes ceasing to fight his opponents when he saw Merlin rush forward in his awkward, gangly glory to take on a bandit three times his size. 

Other instances, after delegating his men to fight for him, he would crane his neck, trying to pick out his disobedient manservant among the throng of yelling men, and sighing in relief when he’d see messy black hair peek out from behind a tree. 

Miraculously, Merlin-- despite running into battles without so much as the clothes on his back-- would do so with no fear in his eyes, and looking to Arthur with such genuine loyalty that it made Arthur a bit uncomfortable... almost feeling unworthy of such devotion.

Even his knights had egos, wavered in battle, fought among themselves sometimes, and-- though honorable, true and brave-- looked to Arthur with deference rather than devotion.

His men, Arthur knew, looked to his outspoken companion with a strange sort of respect. There was the servant boy who would run, unarmed, for their future King-- into the mouth of hell if he desired. 

And at the same time, the boy would insult him, banter with him, and do all sorts of things that they couldn’t bring themselves to do with the crown prince-- even if they were brothers-in-arms. 

There was some strange bond between Arthur and Merlin that couldn’t be replicated with the knights. 

Soon enough, the two were hardly seen without each other. Merlin slowly was becoming a fixture in Camelot. 

The servants that had glared at him now smiled fondly, the knights that had scowled at him nodded their hellos, and Arthur-- though, he never would stop insulting him-- would make subtle excuses to justify Merlin’s presence despite him being the worst manservant in the five kingdoms.

And when Camelot was threatened by the Great Dragon, Merlin was right there with Arthur-- but something was different. There was no fear in Merlin’s gaze, but a strange seriousness-- almost a vulnerability to Merlin’s expression as they lay in the small lodging, candle flickering low near them and the light of the moon creeping through the small window.

Arthur noticed. He noticed how still Merlin was, arms wrapped around himself, and had wanted nothing more than to reach over, wrap his arms around the man, and hold him. 

“I know we’re a Prince, and we can’t be friends,” he had said instead, with a tinge of longing, “but if I WASN’T a Prince…” 

That thought plagued him more than he cared to admit. 

He cut himself off. He could feel Merlin’s curiosity, despite his solemn mood. 

If I wasn’t a Prince…

The thought haunted him as Merlin continued to follow him like a shadow. To Arthur, it was becoming clearer and clearer that the boy’s loyalty lies with Arthur and not Uther. 

While this was touching in a way, it also terrified Arthur-- who had done nothing that wasn’t his father’s whim for years.

And yet, whenever Merlin was wrongly accused of anything, Arthur would not hesitate to shove him out of harm’s way. 

Each time, Merlin’s eyes would sparkle confusedly, looking both grateful and shocked, and Arthur’s heart would flutter as he’d watch the boy scramble away, selfishly hoping that it wouldn’t be the last time that he saw him. 

The pride for his father was waning quickly in importance compared to the approval of Merlin-- who, to Arthur’s immense surprise, was not entirely made of stupid jokes and unwavering bravery. 

There was a strange wiseness in the boy, and confident stillness about him when he spoke. 

He would stand tall, looking Arthur in the eye when he gave his advice, and usually ended up being right. 

Arthur had sometimes thought, privately and almost jealously, that Merlin would perhaps be a better prince. But that thought would fade away as he watched Merlin’s goofy grin, his happiness apparent despite his position having been lower than the rest. 

And so Arthur started speaking more compassionately, bringing himself down to the people’s level-- because it was Merlin that taught him that he wasn’t better than everyone else. He had power, but he was determined to earn the right to wield it. 

“What?” Merlin asked unenthusiastically, voice a bit muffled because he was facing away from Arthur, “if you weren’t a Prince than what?”

Arthur was jerked back to the present, heart quickening. He swallowed hard, looking at the boy. 

It would be easy to make some funny, wistful remark and then match it with an insult. It would be less complicated to dream.

To say something like--

‘We’d probably be friends.’

But that wouldn’t be right, Arthur realized, because Merlin already WAS his friend. 

Arthur had existed in a strange realm where he had been above everyone that mattered to him and below the one person that he wanted to impress-- his father. 

Except, he found that he wasn’t below that person anymore, because it was a different person entirely-- one he considered his equal. 

Merlin. 

Arthur let out a breath. 

“Merlin,” he said quietly, changing tactics all-together, “can- can I tell you something?” 

“Mmm...” Merlin sighed, turning over to face Arthur, looking tired, faintly annoyed, and probably like he was anticipating a stupid comment from Arthur. 

“Uh…” Arthur started eyes flicking down and hands fussing with the fabric of his blanket unnecessarily. Merlin tucked his pillow further under his head, shuffling around a bit before staring at Arthur. Waiting.

“What?” Merlin said, voice still tired but now tinged with curiosity. ‘Great’, Arthur thought gloomily, ‘there’s no backing out now.’ 

“I-I- lied,” Arthur said, glancing up at Merlin, hoping he wasn’t blushing. Merlin raised an eyebrow, the shadow lifting off his face a bit as he shot Arthur a tiny smirk.

“...you’re gonna have to be more specific,” Merlin said softly, with a hint of amusement. 

“Um… when I said we can’t be friends because I’m the prince...I...” Arthur started tentatively, before saying seriously, “I…I think we might already be friends.” 

Merlin looked at him funnily for a moment, before bursting into laughter, falling back onto his back. 

“What?” Arthur snapped heatedly, a bit nettled at this reaction (though his heart was warming slightly at the smile finally returning to Merlin’s face). 

“Oh Arthur,” Merlin snickered, “you say that like it’s the end of the world. It’s not like you’ve never had a friend before.” 

Arthur flopped back onto his back with a quiet huff, coldness seeping back into his chest at this statement. He stared at the patchy ceiling, swallowing hard and trying to keep his expression neutral.

He’d gotten pretty good at being expressionless over the years-- it was the nature of the court, of being royalty, to stand tall. To stand alone.

“Arthur--” Merlin prodded, a bit of hesitation entering his tone, “Arthur, what is it?”

“Nothing, go to sleep,” Arthur said curtly. He should’ve known that Merlin just wouldn’t let things go. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about anything, but wishing more than ever that he could take back this entire conversation.

He could hear Merlin shuffling around some more, but didn’t register what Merlin was doing until the man had slid under Arthur’s blanket with him, his shoulder pressed flush to Arthur’s.

Arthur stiffened in surprise, staring down in shock at Merlin, who merely gave him a sheepish but apologetic glance.

“What are you DOING Merlin?” Arthur yelped. Merlin was so close that he could see his eyelashes flutter and the dimples in his cheeks as he smiled. 

“Annoying you,” Merlin replied promptly. Arthur snorted. 

“Really?” Arthur said exasperatedly, crossing his arms and fixing his stare back up at the ceiling, and trying not to blush. The universe was testing him today. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Merlin hummed brightly, “because you’re my friend.” 

“I’m also your Prince,” Arthur reminded him, mouth twitching and heart flipping at the word ‘friend’, but he refused to break into a grin. 

“A dollop-head Prince,” Merlin amended. Arthur elbowed him half-heartedly, melting again at Merlin just being… Merlin. Merlin didn’t move away, and Arthur tried very hard to pretend like he didn’t care. They lay like that for a long period of silence (though Arthur was painfully aware of every second).

“I didn’t have any friends when I was a kid,” Merlin confessed casually after a while, causing Arthur to blink in surprise. It was hard to imagine someone NOT liking the goofy, kind man that he knew.

“What about Will?” Arthur questioned, thinking fleetingly of the courageous sorcerer he’d met in Ealdor. Merlin shifted, letting out a breath through his nose. 

“I-- I was different,” Merlin explained haltingly, “I didn’t fit in there-- Will was a good friend for a few years before I left but--”

“You still felt like you didn’t fit in.” Arthur finished. 

“Yes,” Merlin said softly, “but there was a time in my life where I DIDN’T have real friends. Like Will.” 

Arthur hummed his understanding. 

“I’m-- I’m sorry for what I said,” Merlin said quietly, “I guess I just assumed because it’s YOU, that you had hordes of friends.” 

Arthur snorted.

“What, because I’m a Prince?”

That couldn’t be further from the truth. He had followers, never friends. His father had told him so many times.

“No,” Merlin said firmly, with simple honesty, “because you’re... Arthur. You’re kind and funny, you’re clever and talented, and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know.” 

“I…” Arthur started, a lump growing in his throat, “just-- how could you SAY that? I’m not-- I’ve hardly done anything as the prince.” 

“Well, you are a bit of a prat,” Merlin put in slyly before returning to his serious tone, “but you will be the greatest King that Camelot has known.”

Arthur shook his head, glancing down to meet Merlin’s earnest gaze. 

“I’ll never understand why you always say that,” Arthur sighed in frustration, “I’ve done nothing different than my predecessors. I’m only good at fighting-- ouch! Merlin!”

Merlin had taken to elbowing his ribs. 

“If you were only good at sword-fighting, I wouldn’t be here,” Merlin said rolling his eyes, “you’re already enough of a turnip-head as it is.” 

“Idiot,” Arthur grumbled, reaching over and ruffling Merlin’s hair, still at a loss of what he’d done to earn the loyalty of this strange man. 

“I mean it,” Merlin said firmly, a strange little grin on his face. They were facing each other now, almost nose to nose, and so close together that Arthur could feel Merlin’s breath. Arthur’s eyes flicked unwittingly away from Merlin, avoiding his sparkling stare. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said genuinely, “for being so…” 

Arthur closed his eyes, steeling himself again, and swallowing his pride before plowing on.

“One more thing, Merlin,” he said awkwardly, “I-- I respect you as-- as an equal. That’s er-- what I wanted to say. It’s ah-- I meant it when I said you’re my friend. You’re-- you’re-- well, there’s only one of you.” 

He cleared his throat before continuing. 

“You’re not just a servant to me,” he said suddenly, surprised that the words had fallen out of his mouth so easily-- so truthfully.

He heard Merlin’s soft gasp before two spindly arms were wrapping around him tightly. 

Arthur stiffened.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged-- certainly not by Uther, or by any of the knights. He had no mother, or any friends close enough to share an embrace with. 

He had no idea what to do.

But he knew he had needed this.

Arthur’s arms flailed awkwardly for a moment in his shock before he hesitantly and very carefully wrapped his arms around the smaller man. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Merlin said firmly, voice muffled in Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur’s arms tightened, burying his face into Merlin’s hair, and let out a tiny sigh. He finally allowed a small smile to grow on his face. 

Merlin didn’t relinquish his grip or say anything further to him until he could feel that Arthur was completely relaxed in this embrace-- which took a long period of silence, which Arthur was eternally grateful for. 

“Does that mean I don’t have to clean out your stables?” Merlin yawned, sounding like he was on the edge of sleep. 

“Don’t be an idiot, Merlin,” Arthur chided softly but didn’t let go of the boy. Merlin simply nodded sleepily before nestling his head in Arthur’s shoulder and closing his eyes. 

He listened as Merlin’s breath evened out, a small, secret smile fixed on his face. 

“Sleep well, my friend,” he whispered into the quiet night. 

And for once in his life, Arthur was at peace because he knew he was more than a fighter. 

Arthur Pendragon was only one side of a coin, and he would always love the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this uber long one-shot! :) I really enjoy writing from Arthur's perspective, let me know if you enjoyed this and would like any similar stories.


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